Statement
by NiceFwoops
Summary: "Draco Malfoy killed my brother. I mean to kill him." AU


written for round 9 of the quidditch league fanfiction league competition as keeper for the falcons. The prompt was an AU where draco killed dumbledore and not snape, and as im not really that keen on draco, i thought i'd swing it a completely diffferent way. :)

* * *

"You're planning something, old man. Don't try to deny it."

Aberforth only smiled and laid his hand down, watching Rosmerta's face closely for any sign of her hand, a mouth twitch, a narrowing of her eyes. There was nothing to be seen. She was nearly as good of a player as he was.

"It's a card game, Rosmerta," said Aberforth. "I'd have to be stupid not to be planning something."

"That's not what I'm talking about," said Rosmerta, face still blank as she shuffled her cards. "You're planning something in real life."

"Card games aren't real life?" replied Aberforth, lips twisting into something that could have been either a smile or a grimace.

"Muggles think all magic is card tricks and pulling rabbits out of hats. Everything is subjective."

They were silent. Rosmerta was watching him while Aberforth thought about how much he valued her quiet companionship, her ever-willingness to play a round of cards with him, her calm acceptance.

"I am planning something."

Rosmerta's face stayed the same, but there was triumph in her eyes.

Admitting it seemed to solidify it in his mind, and the next words flowed easier, felt right as they sat in the dusty bar, lit by the old lanterns flickering above.

"Draco Malfoy killed my brother. I mean to kill him."

The triumph in Rosmerta's eyes was gone, quickly replaced by fear.

* * *

"I didn't think you cared about Albus."

"He was my brother."

"I know he was your brother. Being related to someone doesn't make you care about someone."

"Yes, I learned that from him long ago."

Rosmerta's hand darted out and clutched at his sleeve, fingers white and shaking.

"You're going up against the Dark Lord, and why? To get revenge for a brother you hated?"

"I didn't hate him," said Aberforth quietly.

"Of course you didn't. But tell me, would you be doing this if anyone other than the Malfoy boy had done it? What if one of the teachers up at the school had killed him? What if it was Minerva McGonagall who'd done this? What if it had been Severus Snape?"

"You don't understand," said Aberforth through gritted teeth. "My brother was too good too die at the hands of a child. My brother had many faults, but he was the most talented wizard I have ever met. I need to know. And to do that, I need to find the kid."

"But do you need to kill him?"

"No," said Aberforth. "But I want to."

He pulled his sleeve out of her grasp and left the room, leaving her as her clenched hand fell to the side in dismay.

* * *

"How are you planning to kill him?"

"Hmmm?"

It was the night before he was set to leave. Rosmerta had left him alone until now. He had been wondering how long it would be.

"Is it going too be the good old Avada Kedavra?" asked Rosmerta, shuddering a little as she said the curse. "Or something a little more painful? Maybe a Muggle way, with a gun to the head?"

"Did you walk all the way to my bar just to ask me that?" said Aberforth, raising his bushy eyebrows. "I'm busy."

"What are you doing?"

"Cleaning."

"Then you're not exactly busy, are you?"

Aberforth brandished the glass he was cleaning at her. "What does it look like I'm doing to you?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," she retorted, smiling.

Silence fell between them as they both realized how quickly they had fallen back into their old banter. Aberforth hadn't been aware of how much he missed it until then.

"I can't tell you how I'm going to kill him," said Aberforth.

Rosmerta sighed. "I had a feeling you would-"

"No," interrupted Aberforth. "I can't tell you, but I can show you."

Rosmerta stared at him, mouth slightly open.

"Do you want to come?" he asked.

She was in so much shock she could barely nod her reply.

* * *

"Are you really going to do it?"

The answer was yes, but he wasn't sure she was ready to hear that yet. He refused to look at her, directing his gaze at the mansion instead. It was hard to see clearly in the early morning haze, but he thought he saw a white peacock strutting the borders of the gardens.

He was suddenly quite happy. He hated peacocks.

"You are. You're going to do it."

A statement this time. She knew he was going to do it. She was accepting it. He chanced a glance back at her and saw her eyes going hard, her expression blank. She was readying herself, and he loved her for it.

He didn't find it necessary to reply. It had, after all, been a fact. You didn't need to reply to facts.

As they stood there, the air thrummed, full of pulsing vibrations for one split second, and he knew it was happening.

The mansion burst into flames. Waves of heat were sent back to them, scorching their skin and forcing them to take a step back. The bomb had been more than effective, he knew as he watched the fire curl into the air and release black spurts of smoke.

"All this for one kid?"

"He killed my brother."

"A brother you didn't like."

He smiled and placed his hand on the small of her back, turning away from the flame. They walked away together.

"You're right. I didn't."

* * *

The next time he saw Rosmerta, she had a newspaper dangling between her fingertips. The headline read, if Aberforth was making it out correctly, _'Malfoys Killed in Terrorist Explosion: Muggle-borns Suspected'._

"It says-" began Rosmerta.

"I can read," said Aberforth bluntly.

She flushed, and was quiet for a few moments.

"You said you wanted answers," she said. "But you didn't get any, not by blowing him up."

"I changed my mind," said Aberforth. "I decided I didn't care about how he managed to kill my brother. I just wanted him dead."

For some reason, Rosmerta found that funny.

"They don't know," said Rosmerta. "They don't even suspect."

"The government never gets it right," replied Aberforth.

Ariana's pretty face flashed though his head. He missed her. He had been missing her for a very long time.

"They never seem to remember you, do they?" asked Rosmerta.

"No," he said. "They don't."

_"Certainly I knew him longest, if you don't count Aberforth- and somehow, people never __do__ seem to count Aberforth." -Elphias Doge, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_


End file.
